


The World Is Too Much with Us

by SylvanWitch



Series: In the Ruins [5]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU post-OotP, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which we discover the fate of Harry Potter, the secret of the "Caves of Morrigu," and just how stubborn Sirius can be. Also, this line says a great deal: "We are either the bravest people in the world or completely mad to follow you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Is Too Much with Us

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fanfiction, posted as a series in 2004 at RestrictedSection.org. The title of this chapter is taken from a Wordsworth poem of the same name.

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, in a hollow made by the felling of an ancient, giant tree, sat a black-haired, green-eyed boy, his wand arm extended, shaking with the effort of keeping the slim wood trained on the figure before him. Eyes threatening to close with exhaustion, lids heavy with too much care, hair matted with the filth of a week without proper washing, stomach cramping from too little food and what there was of it berries, Harry Potter tried to focus his concentration, to still his ragged breathing, so that he could cast, once again, the binding spell. "I have to stay awake," he muttered to himself, but it seemed louder in his ears, sleep deprivation amplifying every sound, causing him to start and dart his gaze around him when the figure before him chuckled.

"You'll never survive, Mr. Potter. You had best surrender now. You're only making it worse for yourself. If you release me and let me bring you to the Dark Lord, I am sure that I can petition for mercy on your behalf. He will be so glad to have you with us that he will not wish to harm you."

"Shut up!" He spat through clenched teeth, concentration wavering as he struggled to summon the energy for the spell. He wanted to cast a silencing spell, too, but he knew he would not have the strength for both, and he had to get some rest, if only for a few minutes.

"Your friends are all dead, Mr. Potter, and anyone who survived doubtless believes you the same. No one is going to look for us. No one is going to rescue you. You are all alone in the world, Mr. Potter, with no one to care for you, and you are about at the very end of your strength. Let me make it better, Harry," the voice shifted an octave lower, attempting now to soothe and cajole the weary boy.

"I—said—shut—UP!" With a burst of rage-induced energy, Harry found the power to renew the binding spell, and he watched with a smile of grim glee as the magical bonds tightened around his prisoner. "Not so cocky now, are you, Professor?" Satisfied that the prisoner's hands and legs were secure, Harry moved forward with confidence, pulled a dirty rag that may once have been a robe sleeve from his pocket, and bound it around the prisoner's mouth. It wouldn't do were the prisoner's shouts to bring upon them the Death Eaters, who still patrolled the Forest in search of new sport among the dwindling population of centaurs and unicorns.

Hoping that the binding spell would last the number of hours that he had required, and with an assurance borne of desperation, Harry laid his head down against his pillowed arms and fell into the oblivion of sleep.

*****

The wind moaned mournfully through the eaves of the house, dragging the boughs of a tree against the bedroom panes, as though the dead were scratching at the windows, seeking entrance. Though the fire in the hearth was blazing and he was burrowed in a warm nest of blankets, Severus Snape could not help the shiver that ran through him. The noise of water splashing in the sink of the adjoining bathroom was somehow comforting, and he relaxed against the pillows, stretching like a cat, enjoying the feel of muscles moving without pain beneath the skin of his belly.

Snape had slept through the meeting downstairs, slept through even the shattering of the window that had heralded the arrival of yet more depressing and perplexing news. When a subdued and pensive Sirius had brought Dumbledore up to check on the condition of "their" patient, Snape had still been weighed down by sleep, so much so that he did not even complain when Dumbledore bared the wound entirely and laid both hands upon it, administering a second, and hopefully final, healing spell. A rush of magic, a tingle that was almost-pain, a deep heat that threatened to ignite his abdomen, and then he was wholly healed. His thank you, muzzy with sleep though it was, had been genuine, provoking a real smile from Dumbledore, who had gestured to Black with one hand and said, 

"I believe that the next patient is for you to tend."

Snape had said nothing, only cocked one expressive eyebrow upward at Sirius, who stood in the middle of the bedroom floor as though he was unsure of where he was. He looked utterly bewildered. Snape turned that inquisitive eyebrow to Dumbledore, who had explained in a few words the most recent and shocking events: owl, message, ultimatum, horrific photograph.

When Dumbledore had left the room after two abortive attempts to lure Sirius into conversation, Snape had carefully levered himself up into a sitting position against the headboard. From the darkness in the room, he knew that it must be quite late, and he saw no sense in getting up only to go back to bed. There was that pleasant lethargy that comes only after great pain has been banished. Later, he would blame the this post-pain euphoria for what happened next.

In a gentle tone that perhaps no living person had ever heard, Snape said, "Sirius, come to bed." Though the words were innocent enough, his inflection was charged with innuendo, a liquid slide of silk against Black's skin. Black shifted as though startled out of a reverie, which indeed he had been, and looked at Snape, propped up amidst the ocean blue linens of the big, mahogany bed. Snape's hair was sleep-tousled, falling in irregular waves around his face, which had color again, Black noted absently. Snape's eyes were heavy-lidded, suggestive, drowning-deep, his lips, red and full, parted slightly, as though he were about to draw breath or speak. Black, unwilling to think, tired of hypothesizing, wondering, worrying about what was going to happen next, was suddenly lost in the unadulterated beauty of Severus Snape, who even after a day in a sickbed looked wholly delectable. Black licked his suddenly dry lips and without breaking eye contact with Snape, said, "I'll just go wash up..." gesturing weakly in the direction of the bathroom. "Do," was all that Snape said, but that single, diminutive word dripped with suggestion. 

Now, Snape waited, clad only in boxers, his anticipation mounting as he listened to Black's evening ablutions. He ran a hand idly down his chest, tracing the line of hair that arrowed down his belly to his groin. The place where he had been wounded was smooth under his fingers, a barely detectable horizontal line of slightly shiny new skin. He traced that, too, and then returned his hand to the hollow of his throat to begin the journey again. Resting his head against the headboard, he fixed his eyes on the ceiling, which some enterprising Muggle had papered years before. The inevitable wear of years had left shadows in the damasked material, and Snape amused himself by imagining what each shadow resembled. Some were familiar objects—a cauldron, a wand, a goblet. Others took more consideration. Just as he had about grasped the delineations of a particularly complex smoke stain, he heard the door of the bathroom open, and his eyes were drawn to the sight that awaited him. 

Black stood silhouetted, backlit by the light of the bathroom that poured out into the darkened bedroom. It was enough light to reveal that Black was naked. Snape's gaze was suddenly predatory, and one corner of his mouth rose in a feral grin. Without a word, he reached out one long, long arm, palm up, fingers crooked in the universal come-hither gesture. Black crossed the room with graceful, powerful strides, his eyes locked on Snape's own. He took the proffered hand, allowing Snape to pull him to the bedside, where he stood for a moment, looking down at the feast of pale flesh laid out before him. Then, still wordless, Sirius mounted the bed, straddling Snape's thighs and caging the Potions Master with his arms, which he braced against the headboard. Snape began to rise upward to meet Black's motion, but one strong hand splayed against his chest and pushed him back against the headboard. Black shook his head, once, decisively, eyes never leaving Snape's. 

Black leaned in slowly for a kiss, a kiss of which he was entirely in command. He traced Snape's lips, first the upper and then the lower, with just the tip of his wet tongue. Then, fastening his teeth on Snape's full lower lip, he bit gently, and pulled it into his mouth, sucking. Snape gave a breathless, quiet moan and tried to snake his own tongue out to meet Black's. Black growled once, definitively ending any plans Snape might have had for dominance that night. The Potions Master relaxed back against the pillows, surrendering himself to Black's tender explorations.

Black continued plundering Snape's mouth, feasting on his lips, his tongue, sliding the smooth length of his own against the roughened surface of Snape's back teeth, against the rigged roof of Snape's mouth, along the slick path between tongue and gums. It was a thorough and thoroughly arousing kiss, and by the time Black pulled back to examine his handiwork, Snape was panting slightly, his parted lips like blown roses, red and full and swollen with heat. 

Black pulled himself up and walked up Snape's body on his knees, which caused Snape to slide down the headboard into the nest of pillows, until he was only partially upright, his mouth level with Black's swollen shaft. Black looked down at Severus, who was watching Black's face. They said nothing, but a question was asked and answered in that breathless pause, and then Snape leaned up the scant few inches to take Black into his mouth. Black gave a harsh half-bark at the consuming sensation of being taken into the hot, wet cavern of Snape's willing mouth. Snape wrapped one arm around Black's thighs, pulling him closer, deeper. The other hand he snaked upward to fondle Black's nipple. The dual sensations caused Black to arch and throw his head back, pouring panting, wordless sounds into the air. At this angle, he could grip the headboard and drive into Snape's mouth; the Potions Master had no control. But Black went slowly, savoring the contrast of wet-hot and wet-cold as he slid in and out of Snape's skillful mouth. Snape's tongue laved the underside of Black's shaft, swirled around the tip and into the tiny hole there, and then made a slick channel for its ingress as it slid down to the back of his throat. Snape's hand abandoned Black's nipples in favor of parting his cheeks and sliding a finger along the inner line of his buttocks to the puckered hole nested there. He moved teasingly around the entrance, probing gently but without any real penetration, and Black cried out desperately. Snape, sensing that Black was too close to the edge, ceased his teasing touches and relaxed back to the pillows, placing a single, tender kiss on the tip of Black's shaft as it left his mouth. 

Black was panting hard now, staring at Snape with wonder, taking in the picture of Snape's well-fucked mouth and recognizing his own part in making it that way. Snape gazed back steadily at Black, his eyes ablaze with dark desire and knowing. Black slid back down Snape's body to lay cradled between his spread thighs, skimming the extraneous boxers off of the Potions Master's body. Black reached one hand down between them to stroke the smooth iron length of his lover, who moaned beneath him and thrust upward against Black. Black moved his hand then to Snape's balls, fingering them gently, stroking and kneading with sure, soft pressure, letting his middle finger slide back along the sac to the soft, smooth skin between the sac and the tender flesh just behind it. Snape arched again, harder this time, urgency in his thrusts now, and Black said nothing, only "Shhhhh" to urge Snape into stillness. 

Finally, Snape cried out from the back of his throat, a deep, guttural noise that made Black's balls tighten, and he knew that it was time. Still wordless, Black muttered a charm and slid suddenly oiled fingers one at a time into Snape's waiting body. At the first intrusion, Snape cried out again, having altogether given over to the sensations riding his body like waves. Black rewarded Snape's abandon by running one rigid fingertip over his lover's prostate, and Snape bucked upward again, finding friction against Black's shaft, the two rubbing with pleasurable contact and heat, speed increasing as Snape rode Black's skillful fingers. 

Black's eyes were still fixed to Snape's face, and as he removed his fingers, Snape's eyes shot wide open in surprise at the sudden loss of feeling. Severus found himself staring into Sirius' intent gaze and found there on his lover's face an utter certainty, a sureness that comes only after long acquaintance, when one lover knows the other and can be sure of him. It should have been incongruous, even presumptuous for Black to look so sure of Snape, to look as though he had been in long possession of the Potions Master's body, but Snape found himself entirely captivated by the look, felt himself suddenly owned, and he nodded once, letting a look come into his own eyes that indicated his acceptance of the other man's power over him. Black muttered the same charm again, preparing himself, and then positioned his shaft at Snape's waiting entrance. With just the tip of himself nestled against Snape, Black paused to look down once again into Snape's eyes, to make sure that Severus was watching. His eyes never leaving Severus', Sirius slid his length into the Potions Master's eager body, which rose up to meet him and take him in to the root. When Sirius was wholly enveloped by Severus' tight, hot channel, he stopped for a long, long minute. When he moved again, a burst of sensation rolled through them both, stealing their breath and causing them to writhe together, to rock against one another, to find a slow, rhythmic motion. 

Severus slid one hand between them to touch himself, and Black's eyes darkened with the knowledge. With his other hand, the Potions Master caressed the sweat-slicked expanse of Black's lower back, causing him to arch harder into the man beneath him.

Face to face as intimately as two can be, they moved with firm but gentle care, building one sensation upon the next until they were riding the same wave up and up and up, reaching the shining crest at the same moment, eyes locked until the overpowering pleasure swept over them, crashed down upon them, and they had to close their eyes and open wide their mouths and cry out in identical, perfect, eternal completion.

Though Black's forearms were shaking with the strain of holding himself upright, he did not collapse upon the body of his lover, trembling likewise beneath him. Instead, he lowered only his face, capturing Snape's still-panting mouth in his own, exchanging heated breath mouth to mouth for long moments. When he pushed himself up, soft member still nestled inside Snape, he looked deeply into the Potions Master's eyes. Still, he said nothing, nor did Snape. 

Finally, sensing the inevitable cramping if he stayed in that position, Black pulled out of Snape with infinite care, acknowledging with a private little smile Snape's nearly inaudible moan at the loss of contact. For his part, now that the haze of physical pleasure had begun to clear, Snape was profoundly uncomfortable. Swept up in the overpowering sensations the animagus had drawn from his sensitive body, Snape had not minded the intimacy of staring up at the man to whom he had been so powerfully connected in passion. But even when he had allowed Black to enter him in the bathtub two nights before, it had been an act of control; he had offered himself to the fragile Black, who had been in no state, then, to command anyone. This time, Snape had willingly surrendered himself to a Sirius Black he had never seen before: commanding, powerful, and in control of Snape's body. 

So, when Black returned with a warm, wet flannel, Snape fell back on the comfort of long habit, saying, "No," sharply, and then, grabbing his wand, speaking a quick incantation that cleaned them both. Black's face darkened, and he said, "You couldn't do it, could you? The great Severus Snape, untouchable, will not condescend to this degrading intimacy." Black's voice was tinged with bitterness and something else, perhaps sorrow over the lost moment. 

"Don't whinge, Black. It's unbecoming. There's no need for this romantic claptrap when a simple spell does a much better job in far less time." Snape had retreated behind his normal exterior, had even, it seemed to Black, reverted to an earlier persona, one that had never shared intimate moments with the animagus. Black shook his head, suddenly exhausted and sickened.

"Fine." He threw the flannel in the general direction of the bathroom. "Fine." He got up to find his clothes, dressing stiffly, and then moved toward the door. As he turned the handle, Snape spoke, "Did you think there were going to be declarations of undying love, Black? Did you think I would weep for joy at our union? We've fucked before. The only thing that changed this time was the position." 

Black shook his head in disbelief, a faint sneer of disdain on his lips. "You are a coward, Severus Snape. No matter how many times you risk your life for the cause, you will still be a coward, for you risk only your body." So saying, he left the room, seeking the hearthrug in front of the kitchen fire, where he could curl up in his alternate form, which would be far more comfortable than trying to sleep next to Snape that night. "Git," he said under his breath as he made his way down the darkened hallway.

"Git," Snape said as he punched the pillow beneath his head and settled in for sleep.

*****

Breakfast the next morning was a decidedly uncomfortable affair, at least for six of the seven gathered around the table (Luna had yet to join them). Dumbledore, preoccupied and sleepless, stared into his tea with clouded eyes, as though he could see the future in the murky, rapidly cooling liquid. Hagrid, still mourning the loss of Fang, was morose and, everyone suspected, hung over, if the ravaged liquor cabinet in the basement den was any proof. Molly Weasley was hollow-eyed and shaky, gripping her teacup with two hands and looking at no one. The two Aurors darted uneasy glances from person to person, clearly attempting to get a handle on that morning's gloomy mood. Black glared at his food as though it had attempted to bite him and conspicuously ignored Snape, who was the only one sporting his usual expression. He ate with his normal economy of purpose, drinking a typical large quantity of hot, black coffee, and seemed to be completely unaware of the tense electric undertow winding through the room. 

Finally, after all but Snape had abandoned even a pretense of normalcy and had taken to staring fixedly at something impossibly engrossing on the tabletop in front of them, Dumbledore spoke,

"In all of the confusion following Severus' injury and Miss Lovegood's rescue, and with the events of last night, Molly has not had an opportunity to report on the success of her mission, which was, if you will recall, to develop a beacon spell for those of the Light who seek refuge. Molly, would you please tell us what you've created?"

Molly, lines drawn deeply around her eyes and mouth, drew a shaky breath, and then said, "Well, really, Albus, you must take the credit. It was you who first discovered the correct combination of summoning spell and selective welcoming charm, not I." 

Albus said only, "My dear woman, do not be so modest. Your work has been indispensable in this endeavor!"

Color flooded Molly's cheeks, so suddenly red against the pallor of her grief that she seemed to have been infected instantaneously with some terrible fever. Embarrassed, she rushed into the next part of her speech, hoping to avoid any further discussion of her merits. "We were able to create a potion that acts as a transmitter for the spell. We can cast an energy cleansing spell and then paint the potion over the lintels and along the casements of the house. When we cast the beacon spell, the potion will hold the signal, for lack of a better term. The spell has to be renewed every half-hour, but that is also its benefit. Though we have tried to make it very selective, ruling out anyone bearing the Dark Mark or with evil intentions, someone might still sense the beacon who should not. Chances are, however, by the time he or she honed in on our exact location, the spell would have worn off."

"Surely that will be a similar disadvantage to any allies who might be trying to locate us," noted Snape caustically.

"We thought of that, Severus." Albus continued the report smoothly as Molly hesitated in addressing the Potions Master. "Embedded within the beacon spell is an apparation signature keyed only to those with pure intentions. While an enemy might sense the beacon, he or she will not be able to access that location key but could only rely on a very general sense of direction."

"Still," Snape insisted, "It is an imprecise instrument. A patient enemy will just wait for the reactivation of the beacon." 

"Which is why we have scheduled an irregular rotation of spellcasters. The pattern by which we renew the beacon spell will be sporadic and infrequent. We can only hope that our allies are paying attention."

Snape shook his head. "You have built a castle on air with this hope of allies, Albus. There are none but we here that can save the world from Voldemort."

The surety of his pronouncement cast a pall over the room, and Molly began once again to shake. 

"I think that you should keep your doomsaying to yourself, Snape," spat Black, who had turned in his chair to face the Potions Master. "The last thing that we need is to listen to any more of your dire predictions. These are the dice that have been cast, and we shall have to play them accordingly, whether you like it or no." His words were pointed like knives, slicing the air and leaving behind a rent silence.

The room held its breath. Snape's tone was even and treacherously soft when he finally spoke,

"Our doom is already upon us, Black. No amount of wishing will change it. I strive merely to keep us within the confines of reality as it exists, rather than allowing us to wander into an Elysian field of might have beens and could bes." He folded his hands on top of the table, a gesture meant to imply that he was done speaking to fools and would await only sensible orders.

Dumbledore cleared his throat just as Black began, "You--!" 

"While you, Severus, and Hagrid apply the transmitting potion to the lintels and window casements, Black and Tonks will investigate the Caves of Morrigu and glean any information that they can gather. Kingsley and I are going to work on a strategy to liberate the wands at Ollivander's and muster a resistance in Diagon Alley. Molly will work with us to tailor a similar battle plan for the liberation of Hogsmeade."

"Excuse me, Headmaster, but what will I be doing today?" Luna's voice wafted toward them on a wide yawn as she entered the kitchen.

"Ah, Miss Lovegood. I have a very special task for you. I need you to write down everything that you can remember of what you heard and saw at the Ministry while you were there. Any bit of information you can give us, even a detail that seems insignificant to you, might be the very bit that turns the tide of this war in our favor."

Luna nodded uncertainly, as though she did not quite believe that the Headmaster was so naive, and then sat, drawing a plate of cold toast toward her and asking Tonks to pass the coffee.

"As to the question of Harry Potter's whereabouts..." Dumbledore let the pause lengthen.

Sirius spoke up immediately, in a definite tone that suggested he had given it a great deal of thought. "He couldn't have been in the castle. Had he been, Voldemort would have him now, or he'd be dead. Therefore, he must have been on the grounds somewhere when the attack occurred. He does not know how to apparate, so he cannot have done that, and I don't think he'd have had access to a portkey?"

He gave a questioning look to Dumbledore, who gave a negative shake of his head.

"Then he must have escaped on foot. He can't have gone to Hogsmeade, or, again, he'd already be in Voldemort's hands. Therefore, there's really only one place he could have gone—"

"You're assuming that he's alive," Snape said coolly.

"He's alive. Were he dead, I believe that Voldemort would know it, given his link to Harry's feelings in the past. As I was saying, he must have gone into the Forbidden Forest—"

"Which was overrun by Death Eaters enjoying a bit of off-season hunting when last we saw it," Snape interrupted, voice glacial.

"—where he was able to take refuge, perhaps with the centaurs. He's not unknown to them."

Hagrid spoke up then, "'arry's been there often enou' that Firenze or Bane would recognize 'im if they saw 'im. I thin' they'd protect the boy if they saw what had happened at the school."

"See," Sirius said, shooting a cutting glance at Snape. "Albus, I think that I should go into the forest. In dog form, I can easily pick up the scent and follow it right to him. I could have him back with us this afternoon!" The excitement in his voice was palpable, a liquid wave of hope bathing the listeners in warmth. 

Only Snape was unmoved by the animagus' fervor. "You cannot go to the Forbidden Forest, Black. If you're captured, the Death Eaters will torture our whereabouts and plans out of you, and then where will we be?"

"I will not just leave Harry in the Forest alone. He could be hurt or trapped or wandless—anything could have happened to him in there. I have to go!" His voice was almost desperate, and all but Snape and Dumbledore looked away at the naked pleading on his face.

Dumbledore said, evenly, "Severus is right, Sirius. We cannot risk your capture. It is far too dangerous for us. We have to consider the good of the whole wizarding world and not just the welfare of one boy, no matter how much we all value and love him."

Sirius looked as though Dumbledore had slapped him. "Albus...you can't mean to leave him there. You can't. Albus, please, Harry needs me...you can't ask me to stay here. I have to go to him."

"I'm sorry, Sirius, more sorry than words can express."

"But what about Voldemort's ultimatum? If you abandon the search for Harry, your precious students will start dying. They'll all end up like Cho Chang! And what of the people in Hogsmeade? Do you intend to sacrifice them, too, to the 'good of the whole wizarding world'?" Sirius' voice was rising in anger, fire pouring from lips and eyes as though he could scorch Dumbledore with the passion of his conviction. 

"Sirius, please. I have, of course, given considerable thought to our quandary, and I believe that I have found a solution. It will require an extraordinary degree of courage, focus, and coordination on our parts, but I believe that we can pull it off."

Dumbledore explained, then, his plan for saving the world. When he had finished, stunned faces ringed the table, some pale with fear, others red with anger or disbelief. Only Snape's was impassive. He gave Dumbledore a long, measuring look and then chuckled. The sound was incongruous in air heavy with the implications of the coming action, and every head swiveled to look at him. He chuckled again, the sound of deep water rolling across rocks, rough and liquid at the same time, melodious and dangerous.

"It's brilliant, Albus, and foolish. We are either the bravest people in the world or completely mad to follow you."

Dumbledore merely inclined his head, a mysterious smile on his otherwise expressionless face. The smile did not reach his eyes. He said, "Are there any questions about today's activities?" 

Nothing.

"Good. Let us rendezvous (That is the Auror word for it, is it not, Nymphadora?" Dumbledore asked, a twinkle in his eye. Tonks smiled and nodded) "at one o'clock this afternoon. And all of you—" his gaze fell particularly on Snape—"do try to stay in one piece."

Snape and Black rose at the same time and moved toward the staircase to retrieve necessary items from their shared room. On the stairs, Black attempted, "He's not exactly up to his usual standard on pep talks, is he?" but was deflected with only an answering grunt from Snape.

In the room, the door closing behind them heavily, like a prison gate, Black tried again, "Snape, look—"

But Snape was having none of it. "Black, leave it. I refuse to be drawn into a petty lovers' spat more suitable for hormone-addled teenagers than two grown men. We are not lovers; therefore, we cannot have a spat."

"Then what are we, Snape? Tell me."

"We," emphasis on the first word, dark and heavy, "are nothing. You are a needy, weak, self-deluded git who cannot seem to understand the difference between sex and love. What we," again, sarcastic emphasis on the we, "had is a convenient sexual relationship. What we have now is nothing. You are obviously incapable of separating emotion from physical pleasure. I haven't that problem, but I don't desire to be a player in your little melodrama. Therefore, I would suggest that you find other quarters for tonight."

Black gave him a long, measured look, saying nothing. Then he stalked across the room, his body thrumming with the preternatural energy of his second self, and invaded Snape's personal space, until with a deep breath his chest brushed Snape's. He looked up at the taller man for a considering second or two and then leaned forward a fraction of a millimeter, tilting his head so that he could brush his nose just above the surface of Snape's skin, along his neck, breathing in deeply, gathering his scent and tickling the fine hairs that grew there. Snape's breath came in on a hiss and went out in a shaken gust, and Black smiled against his throat, allowing his lips to linger just there, where the big artery throbbed at every beat of the Potions Master's heart. When he pulled back and looked up at Snape's face again, the careful mask was in place, but he betrayed himself by the flaring of his nostrils as he tried to control his breath.

"I can smell me on your skin," Black said, his tone possessive and sure. "I am staying here tonight." His voice was all dark promise, skin, teeth, and bones. Snape shuddered, a tiny, betraying movement that he hated as it ran through him, involuntary and damning.

"Do not push me, Black," he warned, but the threat felt hollow as it left his throat, and he turned, all grace gone from his usually fluid movement, grabbing his borrowed Muggle coat from the bed where he had laid it and moving toward the door. He was stopped with his hand on the knob.

"Be careful today."

A snort of derision, a wicked gleam of disdain, a fall of black hair swirling around a pale face, and then silence as the door fell closed with a hollow boom, like a stopped heartbeat.

*****

At one o'clock, Black and Tonks entered the kitchen laughing, a strange echo of the last time they had returned from a mission. This time, however, only Snape sat at the kitchen table to greet them. He was pouring over a small, leatherbound book, the kind with ties to keep it closed, a journal, perhaps, Black thought. Next to him, a mug of black coffee steamed. He did not pause in his reading, letting a slow deliberation of time pass before he acknowledged their presence.

Then, he merely raised an eyebrow, asking a question without words.

Sirius said, "It's nothing—" and Tonks said, at the same time, "We were just—" and then, looking at each other, both burst into raucous laughter again. Snape's lip curled in scorn,

"Spare me your childish prattle and sit down. Albus and the others will be here momentarily."

Sirius snagged the chair nearest Snape with his heel, pulling it noisily toward him and sitting with a huff. He slapped his hands together to warm them. Tonks chose the seat nearest the hearth, where she began to rub her hands briskly together.

"It's cold out there," Sirius observed. Snape said, "On the coast of Scotland in December? Horrors! It must be further evidence of the Dark Lord's dominion."

Tonks snorted with laughter, quickly covering her mouth with one hand but not before she had become the focus of Snape's attention.

"What?!" she said. "It was funny!" She flashed Snape an unrepentant grin.

Dumbledore appeared, followed in close succession by Shacklebolt, Molly, and Luna. "Hagrid is patrolling the grounds; we saw some suspicious movement near the woods. It may have been nothing, but we wanted to be sure."

The debriefing went smoothly, each reporting on his or her mission in a relatively straightforward way. Snape and Shacklebolt had completed the cleansing of the house and the application of the transmitting potion. Dumbledore himself had incanted the first beacon spell. The lintels and casements had glowed golden for a moment, accompanied by an unexpected, high-pitched, bell-like ringing, and then nothing. "Only time will tell whether or not we have been successful," the old wizard noted. 

Hagrid returned to report that he had seen nothing unusual on his patrol and seated himself just as Tonks and Black began to recount their trip to the Caves of Morrigu. They had had little trouble getting to the caves, for there were clearly marked stairways cut into the cliff face, with signs for tourists leading them to the "Cave of Sighs." Sirius rolled his eyes: "There was even a fish-and-chips truck, closed for the season, parked near the trailhead. Can't escape the smell of stale grease, it seems." Tonks laughed into her hand and shot a wide-eyed glance at Snape, who was doing his best to ignore Black altogether. Once in the caves, it was only a matter of climbing over the barriers ("No admittance beyond this point") and moving into the cave, which opened up beyond the tourist areas into a cavernous space with three passages extending from it on into stygian darkness. Tonks had taken the leftmost passageway, Black the center, with the understanding that they would return to the central cavern in half an hour's time. Black's passageway ended abruptly in a rockfall, so he had gone back to explore the third tunnel. Near the end of his half-hour, he still had not reached the end, so he had transformed into his animagus form and raced back to the central cave, where he had found Tonks waiting. Her tunnel had ended in a smooth, blank wall. Together, they moved back down the third tunnel, which eventually widened out to a large, high-ceilinged room, at the center of which was a round, still pool of black water. There was no continuation of the tunnel on the other side of the water, so they explored the cavern walls instead, looking for any kind of sign or mark to indicate that it was a sacred place. They had found nothing. "Nothing at all, " said Tonks, disappointment and mild disgust coloring her tone. "You'd think in a cave like that there'd be something—even graffitti from hooligans or whatnot. But, there was nothing."

"She must be called," Snape said, absently, still reading the little book.

"What?" Black and Tonks said in unison.

"Morrigu must be called." He looked up impatiently from the engrossing text. "There's an invocation and, of course, the offering. I should think for a simple audience a small animal would do. I believe we have an extraneous owl in the bathroom."

Hagrid startled in his seat, and said, "Now see 'ere," but Dumbledore stopped him.

"Severus is right. The owl is of no use, and we do need a sacrifice. It seems only fitting that it be one of Voldemort's familiars."

Hagrid subsided into outraged silence.

"How do you know this, Snape?" Tonks asked with cautious curiosity. 

He lifted the book meaningfully, keeping a thumb between the pages to hold his place. "Luna raided the local historical society." All eyes turned with varying degrees of astonishment on the girl sitting at the hearth-end of the table. She shrugged, smirked, and said nothing. "She is quite a resourceful young woman," Snape said, high compliments, indeed, coming from him. "This is the diary of a nineteenth century English dilettante who fancied himself something of a 'native classicist,' I believe is what he called it. At any rate, he hypothesized that the Cave of Sighs had historical significance based on pirate accounts, local legends, and Celtic myth. He was one of the first to explore the cave seriously, and he discovered "Vivienne's Pool," as he dubbed it. After consulting with a local 'wise woman,' he tried a series of invocations, none of which had any effect until the day he brought a goat with him. He slit the goat's throat over the pool, 'feeding it the blood,' and chanted the invocation thrice. He claims that the water bubbled 'like a pot boiling,' that a stench of decay filled the air, and that the moaning from the cave increased to deafening levels. While nothing tangible manifested, he says that he sensed 'the presence of something not of this earth,' and he thought it 'expedient to decamp.' He ran away," Snape translated, scornful glee evident.

"Does he include the invocation chant?" Tonks asked eagerly.

"Yes. It's complete doggerel, but I suppose that if it worked for this ridiculous Muggle it should certainly work for two trained wizards."

"What would you have us ask of her, Albus?" Sirius asked. 

There was a pause while Dumbledore pondered the possibilities. "Morrigu is a goddess of war. Perhaps she has a weapon that would be of use to us. Find out what her price might be for such a weapon."

"I never thought I'd see the day when the great Albus Dumbledore would be reduced to trafficking with a supernatural arms dealer," Snape noted, wryly. 

Stony silence from the others seated around the table, and then a dry, deep chuckle from the Headmaster himself, a chuckle that grew in volume and tone until it rang from the ceiling of the big kitchen. One by one, the others picked it up, all except Snape, who merely smiled.

A few minutes later, Black and Tonks went back out into the winter cold to seek the aid of Morrigu.

*****

In the daylight gloom of the Forest canopy, in a hollow made by a felled giant, a black-haired boy stirred in his sleep and then woke with a start and looked around frantically. Catching sight of the prisoner still tightly bound, he relaxed for a moment, only to be caught once more by the sensation that had drawn him from sleep to begin with.

There it was. A tugging at his stomach, something like the feeling he always got from traveling by portkey. This time, instead of a giant hook wrenching at his belly button, though, he felt a metaphysical string, tenuous but tangible, pulling at him. He felt compelled to follow it, so much so that he resisted, sure it was a trap.

The prisoner was staring at him speculatively, head cocked, seemingly unaffected by a similar sensation.

The prisoner mouthed as if to speak, and Harry pulled away the gag.

"What's the matter, Mr. Potter? Did you have a bad dream?" The voice was a mockery of comfort, like a poorly made picture of what sympathy should look like. Harry ignored it.

The pulling sensation in his belly increased, and he stood up, taking a few tentative steps in the direction of the insistent feeling. It lessened infinitesimally, and he paused to consider the implications of that fact. Then, pulling his wand from the waistband of his jeans, he muttered a quiet "Mobilicorpus" and began to walk in the direction he was being pulled, his prisoner floating along behind him.

So distracted was he by the pulling sensation that he did not notice one hand snaking its way through the slightly loosened bonds.


End file.
